


denotes the man

by elumish



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Languages, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 13:12:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10831974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elumish/pseuds/elumish
Summary: Yuuri picks up languages the way he picks up step sequences—quickly and with as much hard work as innate skill.





	denotes the man

Yuuri picks up languages the way he picks up step sequences—quickly and with as much hard work as innate skill.

He picks up English easily, despite the many flaws in the Japanese English-language education—it’s all theory and no conversation, and nobody wants to stand out so they all drag themselves down. He’s guilty of that too, he knows, because he hates eyes on him unless he’s perfect, unless he’s on ice. He knows he wants to train in the United States, so he reads books and watches television shows and tries to parse idioms and slang that don’t make any sense.

Skating helps, once he starts meeting skaters from other countries; English ends up as a common language, and so they piece together what each other is saying and get very good at understanding English numbers.

Moving to Detroit teaches him about people who talk too fast, and about different dialects, people from Tennessee and Georgia and New York and California and China and Mexico, all speaking English differently, and sometimes in a room full of people he can’t pick anything out, just a wash of noise like a wave from the ocean.

He’s nowhere near the ocean there, only the Great Lakes, and it’s odd, not having that as a point of reference. Things are all so _new_ in the United States, so far away from nature and trees and Japan. He learns technical language there, biology and literature and velocity, Plato, constructivism. He learns the words necessary to describe his anxiety, the technical language, the neurobiological explanation, because it gives him something to hold on to, some proof that it’s not entirely a failing on his part.

He learns Thai for Phichit, because he’s homesick and young and Yuuri has been there, and the first time he asks, “เป็นอย่างไรบ้าง?” and Phichit’s eyes light up, Yuuri knows he’s done the right thing.

He learns casual conversation in Thai first, and skating terms, and food—the things that he talks to Phichit about. There’s no need to learn the technical language he needs in Japanese or English, and no easy way to learn it, either. He can get through a Thai movie without subtitles, though he still gets tripped up when Phichit is tired and slurring his word into his pillow, too low and mushy for Yuuri to follow.

Spanish he gets from a college friend, one who wants to learn Japanese and offers to cook his mom’s Mexican recipes for him if Yuuri teaches him. The food is nothing like home, but he likes the feeling of someone else cooking for him, and the laughter at his inability to roll his ‘r’s doesn’t hurt much because the friend can’t stop rolling them, and so both of them are wrong.

Russian has always been his secret language, one he teaches to himself alone in his room with the vain, silly hope that one day he will meet Viktor Nikiforov and impress him by speaking to him in Russian instead of English. He has a fantasy of walking up and telling him, in flawless Russian, how much he admires Viktor’s work and what an inspiration Viktor has always been, and then telling him that one day he hopes to get close to Viktor’s level.

But when he sees Viktor, when he gets his chance, it’s after his failure, when he knows he will never be worthy to stand in Viktor’s presence, much less reach Viktor’s level, when Viktor doesn’t know who he is despite there having only been six of them, and of course he doesn’t because Yuuri is hardly worth knowing, especially now, his tongue fails and no Russian will come out, and his throat closes over everything he has dreamed of saying.

He doesn’t tell Viktor he knows Russian when Viktor arrives, doesn’t say anything, because he had had a dream, a fantasy, and that chance is gone and to speak a word of Russian would be to admit that loss, and he is weak, cowardly, and his throat closes around his breath.

Phichit knows, courtesy of a drunken and tearful confession years early, and Yuuri can see the confusion on his face when Viktor slips into Russian and then apologizes for it, but he’s a good friend and doesn’t say anything. And in Moscow Yuuri pretends not to understand anything, and speaks only in English, and keeps his head down.

But when Viktor comes badly out of a fall and smashes his head on the ice, unmoving and not responding to a word of English, Yuuri doesn’t hesitate before switching to Russian, saying, "Открой глаза, Виктор. Пожалуйста. Пожалуйста, Виктор.”

In the hospital, when Viktor finally opens his eyes, Yuuri is next to him, hands shoved in his lap so nobody can see them shaking. “Ты говоришь по-русски,” he says, and it’s not quite accusatory.

Ashamed, Yuuri ducks his head, mumbling, “Прости, пожалуйста. Прости. Прости.”

Viktor’s hand touches his chin, tilting it up; Yuuri keeps his eyes down so he doesn’t need to look Viktor in the face. “Why are you apologizing, Yuuri? That’s so sweet, learning Russian for your dear coach. But why didn’t you tell me?”

Yuuri squirms, tucking his chin away from Viktor’s hand, then bursts out, “I didn’t learn it because you’re my coach.”

Viktor blinks at him. “What?”

Yuuri bites his lip. “I didn’t learn it because you’re my coach. I learned it before—before.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because it’s silly. I wanted—I wanted to talk to you in Russian when I met you, to impress you, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t, and then I didn’t want you to know how silly I am, so I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh, Yuuri.” Before Yuuri can do anything, Viktor reaches out and latches on to him, pulling him against his body and wrapping him in a hug. “Yurochka. That’s not silly. I’m honored.” After a second, he stiffens, pushing Yuuri back so he can look at him. “Does that mean that you can understand my Russian dirty talk?”

Yuuri feels his face heating up and mumbles, “Maybe.”

Viktor grins at him. “Oh, this will be so much fun.”

**Author's Note:**

> Someone please fix my Russian.


End file.
